dogs running

“Rose walked in search of the Fata Morgana. The castle seemed to glow with a transparent
inner light, the color of darkness if darkness could shine.” ~ “The Twelve Wild Swans”

In the book “The Twelve Wild Swans” by Starhawk and Hilary Valentine, the authors use an old European story about how twelve sons were changed into twelve swans by an ill-fated wish by their mother. The woman, who was a queen, longed so much for a daughter, she was willing to trade her sons to have one. There are several versions of this story, depending on which European country you are in, but I’ll stick to the one that I read.

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trees

I was meditating a while ago and put out the question to the universe, “Who am I?” I know. I’ve been asking that a lot lately.

I really hadn’t expected an answer so I was surprised when the words that came into my head were “Truth Teller.”

What? No I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t keep backspacing over what I’ve written here. I wouldn’t be thinking that I sound too negative, too radical, too angry.

And which truth would I tell? There’s my truth. There’s your truth. There are a million truths out there. There are even “alternative facts” to contend with now.

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dog on Gunflint Trail

“There are stories of animals that have been bred in captivity experiencing the terror of the open door. It might seem counterintuitive, but captive animals often have the good sense to know their chances of survival in the wild are uncertain at best. The prospect of running away or flying off is simply too painful and frightening. So they stay put in the sanctuary of the cage… The instinct for liberty may be deeply ingrained, but we are all captive in someway to something… The cage of habit. The cage of ego. The cage of ambition. The cage of materialism. The line between freedom from fear and freedom from danger is not always easy to discern.” ~ Kyo Maclear, “Birds Art Life: A Year of Observation”

Last weekend, Steve and I and the dogs were at Gunflint Lodge for my 60th birthday escape. As we drove along Lake Superior towards our destination, the sky was cloudy and gray, as it had been for days. The wind whipped the expanse of blue Superior water into a white capped frenzy. Waves ran towards the shore where they struck against black rocks and the cliffside, sending fountains of white water spraying into the air. We passed by a couple spots where surfers, clad in wet suits and carrying surf boards headed towards this welcome gift of raucous water.

Lake Superior

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